


I said you could snuggle (not put your cold feet on my dick)

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles celebrates his and Derek’s five-year anniversary by giving Derek a subscription to a Bacon-of-the-Month club, a set of hand-carved figurine wolves to represent the pack, and, not to brag, a truly spectacular blowjob on the couch that leaves Derek dazed and blindly running his hands through Stiles’s hair. </p><p>Of course, because Scott has accidentally been part of 75 percent of Stiles’s sexual encounters since high school, this is when he bursts in and announces that Allison is pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I said you could snuggle (not put your cold feet on my dick)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to thatdamneddame for the beta, for being a snob and knowing that all Latin is ancient, and for her horrifyingly extensive knowledge of the pacing of Bring It On. 
> 
> One WIP down, I don’t want to count how many more are floating around my desktop. Title from a Louise Gluck poem because that's how I roll.

When this thing between them was still new, Stiles used to look in the mirror and wonder exactly what Derek saw in him because Stiles knew his flaws—generally an asshole, tactless, attention span of a toddler—and his flaws did not exactly lend themselves to stable relationships. He lived in perpetual anxiety that Derek would wake up one morning and just be done with him.

And then Derek almost bled to death and there was some snot and tears and Stiles sort of went into a fugue state, where apparently he said a lot of hideously emotional things like _don’t die you fucker_ and _holy shit I love you_ , glowed like Tinkerbelle and healed Derek with the power of his love or something horrifying like that—seriously, Deaton is the worst about explaining things—and then passed the fuck out.

Things sort of fell into place after that.

 

+++

 

Stiles celebrates his and Derek’s five-year anniversary by giving Derek a subscription to a Bacon-of-the-Month club, a set of hand-carved figurine wolves to represent the pack, and, not to brag, a truly spectacular blowjob on the couch that leaves Derek dazed and blindly running his hands through Stiles’s hair. 

Of course, because Scott has accidentally been part of 75 percent of Stiles’s sexual encounters since high school, this is when he bursts in and announces that Allison is pregnant. 

 

+++

 

It’s the pack’s first baby and it shows. Within a week of the announcement, Scott starts sending him emails asking when is too soon to start baby proofing the house and Lydia reads twenty articles on prenatal healthcare, promptly freaking out with everything that could go wrong. Derek looks starry eyed and Stiles has to drag him out of the baby section of Target to stop him from reverently touching all the onesies.

Allison bears it all with patience, patting Scott’s hand as she calmly removes the safety covers from the wall sockets and reassuring her dad that yes, she took her prenatal vitamins today and that no, she does not need another cup of tea. Chris brings her one anyways and Stiles is so impressed when Allison doesn’t throw it at him.

They still have eight months to go and everyone is panicking.

 

+++

 

Stiles wakes when Derek nudges him in the kidney and mumbles something entirely unintelligible. It’s pretty par for the course—Derek isn’t truly functional until he’s had three cups of coffee and a Jethro Bodine–sized bowl of Fiber One cereal. It’s actually pretty adorable.

“What was that, big guy?” Stiles rolls on top of Derek, nuzzling at his shoulder. “Want to try again?”

Derek growls and enunciates, “Scott. Kitchen. Make. Him. Go. Away.” 

With a laugh, Stiles drops a kiss on Derek’s head and rolls off the bed. “Fine, but if it’s werewolf-specific drama I’m dragging your ass out of bed.”

If Scott’s out of bed before 10 am on a weekend, it’s serious. For reasons he tries not to think about, Stiles knows entirely too much about Scott and Allison’s weekend sex shenanigans. He just hopes there aren’t any tears. He and Scott have hugging down to an art, but Stiles still kind of flaps his hands a lot when confronted with other people’s emotions.

 

+++

 

On the plus side, there are no tears. On the down side, there’s just silence and the deep circles under Scott’s eyes, but Stiles has never met a silence he hasn’t felt compelled to fill. He starts the coffee maker and says, “Dude, the sun is barely up. What’s going on?” 

The heavy sigh and thunk of Scott dropping his head on the table is not unexpected, although also not particularly helpful.

He’s learned the hard way that pushing Scott to open up just makes him defensive and withdrawn, so Stiles just talks softly about nothing, about how he might let Derek drag him hiking today, about how peaches are on sale. He lets Scott brood until the coffee maker beeps, he’s moderately caffeinated, and finally prepared to jump on this grenade.

“Bro, I can’t help if you don’t say anything. Mindreading is not exactly my superpower. And while I can talk all morning, I think Allison might want you home at some point.”

Scott looks blearily at Stiles and desperately takes the coffee that Stiles is offering. He says quietly, “I’m going to fuck this up. What if turn out like my dad?” and it takes everything in Stiles not to laugh in his face because that is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

Instead, he hums thoughtfully. “You know, you’re lucky you came to me about this instead of your mom. She’d hit you upside the head for even thinking that, and you know it.”

Scott flushes, but says nothing. Just stares at Stiles with a steady gaze, and Stiles isn’t sure how he’s supposed to reassure Scott about his impending fatherhood status when it is so painfully clear to him that Scott is the best of them, he would light himself on fire before he’d ever think of hurting someone, much less his kid. 

In the end, Stiles tells the truth. “Scott, your kid is going to be so damn lucky to have you as a dad, but if Hell freezes over and it looks like you’re going to mess things up, you know we’ve got your back. You know we won’t let you cross any lines. That’s what pack is for.” 

He pulls Scott into a hug and they sit there in the breakfast nook sipping coffee in silence until Derek stumbles into the kitchen and gives them a dirty look for actually being awake and upright. 

 

+++

 

At one point, Allison tries to lay some ground rules: No random gifts, no matter how thoughtful or well meaning. No treating her as if she’s made of glass; at least, not until she’s unable to see her ankles. And, most important, no keeping her out of pack business “for her own safety.”

Stiles could have told her those would mostly be ignored, but it seemed easier to let her give it a shot. 

Her sigh of defeat and resignation when Lydia swans in the next week with a top-of-the-line running stroller makes Stiles pat her on the back and hand her another cookie. 

 

+++

 

Since senior year of high school, Stiles, Allison, and Lydia have had a monthly No-Werewolves-Allowed night. It generally involves gossip, alcohol, and chocolate. Jackson calls them their “ladies’ nights” and dodges the kicks that Stiles aims at his shins.

When he shows up armed with _Bring It On_ and mini _pains au chocolat_ , Lydia hands him a gin and tonic at the door and hisses, “Do not mention anything about clothes, doctors’ offices, or Scott, or I will end you. I just got her to stop crying,” before turning and stalking off into the living room.

“Right then,” Stiles mutters. “Stay strong, Stilinski.” 

 

+++

 

By the time they get around to watching _Bring It On_ , Stiles has had five drinks, been cried on, made a heinous amount grilled cheese, and given Allison a foot massage that frankly made him uncomfortable with all the moaning going on. It’s been a long night and he’s desperate for a distraction. While he pours another drink, Big Red claims that she is still Big Red, and Stiles settles in for mindless entertainment. 

The peace lasts until Kirsten Dunst starts crying about being cursed and Allison finally does something with all the fidgeting she’s been doing all movie. Stiles hopes she’s either finally going to break the pee seal so he can go or she’s going to start a discussion about the relative likelihood of cursed sticks and how that ties into weird superstitions in America, but no. That would be too easy. Right as Missy laughs about cheerleading urban legends, Allison turns abruptly to Stiles and asks, “Do you and Derek want kids? You look like you'd be good with kids.”

“Are you saying I have birthing hips?” Stiles questions faintly.

Allison shoots him a considering look and then says, “I’m _saying_ that if you want Derek to knock you up, now would be a good time. Our kids could, you know, be friends!”

Stiles ignores the sputtering coming from Lydia. Everything is kind of blurry and he can’t tell if Allison is fucking with him or not. “Hold up, wait a minute. I’m sorry, are you saying Derek has magic sperm that will get me pregnant? Because, no. Not possible.”

Allison grins at him, that dangerous grin that says she knows something you don’t know, and says, “Did you read the bestiary we found in Maine? Because it had some interesting facts on werewolves.”

He stares at her. “Fuck this, I need another drink.”

 

+++

 

Stiles wakes with the hangover from Hell and a craving for the greasiest hash browns he can get his hands on. His kidneys feel like they’re trying to escape his body, courtesy of the holes provided by the springs in Lydia’s couch. He winces when Lydia yells something he can’t quite make out. 

Groaning loudly, he calls out, “Leave me here to die, please.” 

Allison pokes her head into the room. “Lydia says breakfast in five or you get nothing. Also, check your phone.” She smiles as though she’s forgotten what the aftermath of drinking is like and walks away.

Stiles scrambles to his phone and wants to scream.

__  
To: Hunny Bunny  
23:12  
MPREG POSSIBLE? U HAVE MAGIC SPERM? NO THXS. 

_From: Hunny Bunny_  
23:15  
What? 

_To: Hunny Bunny_  
23:58  
I LOBE YOU, I DO. BUT NO ASSBABIES. 

_From: Hunny Bunny_  
00:02  
You’re an idiot. Drink some water. Love you too. 

_To: Hunny Bunny_  
03:05  
OMG KNOTTING? REAL OR NOT. PLZ ANSWER. 

_From: Hunny Bunny_  
08:33  
You need to stop drinking with Allison. 

 

“Oh my God, Allison, you are such an _asshole_ ,” Stiles yells downs the hall. He flops back onto the couch as she laughs.

(Derek picks him up that afternoon with a vaguely-concerned-but-pretty-sure-he-doesn’t-want-to-know look on his face. Stiles regrets that at his age it’s considered immature to whine that something wasn’t his fault.)

 

+++

 

Once he finally wore down Derek’s defenses and rounded third base, Stiles was always hyperaware that some of his friends had werewolf hearing. He limited anything below the waist to times that there was absolutely no chance of being interrupted. 

This lasted about a week, and then he walked in on Lydia and Jackson going at it on the pack couch and decided that if his pack mates didn’t seem to care, then neither would he.

(Lydia later told him that Jackson got off on being caught. Stiles regretted everything immensely.

Derek had growled and made Jackson steam clean the couch, but there hadn’t been any real anger there; just resignation and the knowledge that this was only the beginning.)

All this to say that Stiles is not even a little bit surprised that Derek doesn’t really react when Lydia uses her spare key to the house and catches them with Stiles bent over the kitchen table. He just growls softly and leans down to rest his head between Stiles’ shoulder blades, muttering, “You deal with her.” The shift makes Stiles bite back a moan, and Lydia raises an eyebrow.

“Pack meeting at six. And Stiles—” she looks at the table pointedly, “—you better clean that table before brunch this weekend. Jackson will know if you haven’t.”

She slams the door as she leaves. Stiles looks at the clock—it’s only four. They’ve got some time. 

 

+++

 

Stiles wonders when is too soon to call this pack meeting to a close. Scott is trying to keep everyone on point, but it’s hard when even Derek, usually the staunchest supporter of regular meetings, is starting to get restless. 

When the Nemeton was active, pack meetings were for damage control and preemptive planning. Scott would pace; Derek would scowl. They weren’t a pack then. They were kids shoved together who miraculously didn’t kill each other. Now, as Allison trash talks Lydia while they play Mario Kart, Stiles takes a moment to wonder how things would have turned out if he hadn’t dragged Scott into the woods that night, if things had stayed the same.

Well, for one thing, he probably would never have the honor of hearing Lydia curse in archaic Latin when Allison runs her off the road. 

Finally, once Jackson has made one too many pointed comments about posturing and overcompensation, Stiles sighs heavily and says, “OK, well, can we wrap this up? Are we all in agreement that Scott will go do his ‘true alpha’ thing if anything untoward shows up; Jackson will sharpen his claws behind him; Allison will stay home, barefoot and pregnant, yadda yadda? Because, uh, Derek and I have to go do samesies.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “So we’ll, uh, see you guys later?” From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek cover his face with his hands.

While Allison glowers in outrage, Scott cocks his head. “Samesies?”

“Yeah, you know,” he makes a crude hand gesture. “I don’t want to say anything bad in front of—” Stiles waves his hand at Allison’s stomach, “the spawn. Thus, samesies.”

While Scott loses it, Derek mutters loud enough for Stiles to hear, “Oh my God, I’m involved with an actual child.”

“What?” Stiles cries. “I don’t want to fuck the kid up!”

Scott is laughing so hard he’s crying and Allison just raises an eyebrow. Lydia is pointedly taking the opportunity to repeatedly run Allison off the Rainbow Road.

Derek, apologizing over his shoulder, drags Stiles off. 

Stiles isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel sorry about. The meeting was finally over and he was going to have great sex. Win-win for everyone.

 

+++

 

When they get the invitation in the mail, Stiles stares at it blankly for a long moment before Derek plucks it out of his hand.

“Isn’t it a bit early for a baby shower? Like, bad luck or something? Allison is only, what, four months along?” Stiles asks.

Around a yawn, Derek says, “Well, considering Lydia just gave Allison a crate of children’s books, I don’t think anyone is going to let timing stop them.” There’s a long pause and then he continues, “I wonder where they’ve registered,” before he strides purposefully out of the kitchen, like baby shopping has replaced caffeine as his morning stimulant.

Stiles lets his head fall to the table with a loud thunk and wonders how he’s supposed to keep Derek from buying everything in Toys ’R’ Us.

 

+++

 

To be honest, Stiles kind of forgets about the shower for a couple weeks. It’s still a month off and he has more pressing matters. Like, making sure Derek knows how much he loves it when he wears that pair of threadbare sweatpants and does shirtless housework. An entire Saturday is lost to rechristening all the surfaces of the first floor.

Stiles calms Scott down when nerves rise up and he does his best to ignore Allison’s texts regarding her lack of sex life, since apparently Scott is incredibly concerned about hurting the baby with his dick. Some things Stiles just doesn’t want to know. He tells her to ask Lydia and the text he gets from Lydia three hours later is totally worth the revenge he knows is coming.

 

+++

 

As Derek pads around the living room, reorganizing the DVDs or whatever he does, something in the back of Stiles’ mind settles and quiets. 

Stiles stares into the fridge and tries to remember how long the leftover Chinese food has been around. Was it Wednesday’s dinner, or did they get that on the weekend? Shrugging, he decides potential food poisoning is unlikely when compared with tasty, tasty, roast pork lo mein. 

He’s about to ask if Derek will fight him if he eats the last spring roll, when a giant red circle on the calendar catches his eye. Right. Allison’s baby shower. That’s actually coming up soon. They need a gift. Or supplies. Streamers? Is there a theme? 

Stiles walks into the living room with a bowl of noodles for him and some Mongolian Beef for Derek. Setting the food down on the coffee table, Stiles asks, “Did you want to go shopping this weekend for the baby shower?”

Derek freezes and a little warning bell goes off in Stiles’s head. He turns to Derek. “Derek. Boo bear. Look at me; this is really, really important. _Did you already buy stuff?_ ”

Looking anywhere but at Stiles, Derek nods rapidly. “I may have. But only, you know, just a couple things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as—” Derek’s voice goes quiet, “a car seat and a crib, and maybe also—”

Stiles pulls at his hair. “We were supposed to go _together_. As a _couple_. What happened to the plan, Derek?”

“I just, I was on The Bump and I just lost control, sort of, a little bit.”

“Yeah, I saw you in OshKosh B’gosh. It was a bit scary. But Derek, dude, where are you storing this shit? Our house isn’t that big.”

And then Derek takes him to the garage, where apparently he’s cleaned out a corner and filled it with baby shower paraphernalia. 

Holy shit. There’s a lot of stuff. 

 

+++

 

To even things out, Stiles demands that Derek come with him to pick up Allison’s list of things she still needs for the shower. The moment they walk into the store, Stiles regrets it. This is why internet shopping was invented.

 

+++

 

There are many things that Stiles would do—and has done—for Scott. Take a wolfsbane bullet. Lie to his dad. Run interference while he and Allison sorted their relationship out. (If Stiles never hears another word about that thing that Scott can do with his tongue or the noises Allison makes, he’ll be happy.)

Scott’s his bro, but standing in front of a long aisle filled with screaming children and too many pastel-colored stuffed animals, Stiles may have found his line in the sand. He starts to back up, saying, “So, you got this? Yeah, you got this,” only to find that Derek has moved and is standing right behind him. Stiles doesn't even wait for a reply before he tries to scoot around him and escape. He can see sweet salvation and serenity in the form of an Auntie Anne's inside the mall, not even one hundred feet away. He's so close he can almost taste the fake cheese dipping sauce. 

Derek stops him with a hand to the chest. “Nope. It's your fault we're here; you're not leaving.”

“My fault?” Stiles squawks. “Explain.”

“You told Scott we’d get the party materials. Allison insisted on something gender neutral and environmentally friendly. This is the only store in a fifty-mile radius with anything that meets her requirements.”

Stiles gapes uselessly. He can’t even deny it; it’s all true.

Derek continues. “I suggested that we get the desserts, which you proclaimed to be a weakling’s job and that we were real men and ‘not afraid of no toy store.’”

This is sounding uncomfortably familiar. Stiles fidgets. 

“I also told you that that was a terrible attempt at a _Ghostbusters_ reference and then you ate all my Cheetos ‘in retribution’ and passed out.” Derek frowns at him. “It was terribly unattractive.”

“That,” Stiles says gleefully, grateful to finally have something to deny, “is a bald-faced lie. You find everything I do attractive.”

Derek sighs, shaking his head, and pushes Stiles further into the store.

The fact that Derek doesn’t disagree with him puts a ridiculous grin on Stiles’s face. He’s pretty sure that the woman in aisle 3A is hard-core judging him, but whatever. Stiles will do a lot for declarations of love and affection from Derek, even if they’re by omission. 

 

+++

 

The baby shower goes off without a hitch, which is why Stiles is hiding in the corner, clutching his empty champagne glass, and looking around desperately for the bottle, hoping to get another refill. Derek is chatting happily with Melissa, but Stiles just can’t do it anymore. He can’t take another tear-filled hug from Scott, and if Allison looks at him with that hideously earnest look on her face—like she somehow knows that he’d throw himself in front of an arrow for this child—well, Scott won’t be the only dude with tears in his eyes, and Stiles knows that he is not a pretty crier.

So instead of joining Lydia on the couch and cooing over frilly hats and tiny, adorable baby shoes, he’s hiding behind the action, hoping that Allison won’t put forth the effort to turn around and glare him into submission. 

To be fair, Allison doesn’t do the glaring; she sends Lydia to hunt him down while she takes another pee break.

“Stiles,” Lydia smiles at him serenely and viciously, and Stiles spares a thought to hope that Derek finds love again after Lydia has killed him and disposed of his body, “it is Allison’s special day, and she is getting increasingly distracted by the fact that you are brooding like a twelve year old over here in the corner. Get your ass to the couch and put a smile on your face, or so help me I will have Jackson make you.”

While Jackson isn’t really much of a threat, Stiles takes very seriously the fact that Lydia’s nails might actually draw blood from his arm. And so, he sits his ass on the couch, smiles, and hands Allison the box that Derek so carefully and painstakingly wrapped last night, complete with handcrafted ribbons. 

Derek, the monster, is grinning at Stiles’s discomfort like Christmas has come early, or at least he is, until Allison opens the box and lets out this choked little sob. Stiles watches as, with shaking hands, Allison pulls out this beautifully carved mobile, complete with tiny wolves, bows and arrows, and what Stiles thinks might be a lizard. Derek’s clearly gone to some lengths to mimic the pack, and holy shit, Stiles refuses to cry because his boyfriend is an absolute sap of werewolf.

Allison, thankfully, has no such restraint, and practically launches herself off the couch and onto Derek. 

Stiles watches gleefully as Derek’s face goes from full-on panic, to confusion, to awkward softness, and back to full-on panic. Over Allison’s shoulder, Derek mouths, “What do I do?”, and Stiles nearly breaks, before mimicking a hug. Derek is great with providing one-handed comfort. Need a morale-boosting clap on the shoulder? A reassuring squeeze on the nape of your neck? Derek’s got you covered. Show him someone crying and he freezes like you’ve pulled a gun on him. 

When Allison finally pulls away, there’s a huge wet mark on Derek’s shoulder and she whispers something in his ear that makes him grin down at her.

Allison calls for another break and makes a beeline for the bathroom, and while Lydia is distracted, Stiles makes his great escape and tucks himself next to Derek, settling in for the rest of the shower. Pulling one of Derek’s arms over his shoulder, Stiles looks up at him and asks what Allison said. Derek just smiles and shakes his head, pulling Stiles in for a kiss that makes Jackson gag and tell them to get a room. 

At some point in the afternoon, there are toasts, and Stiles says something that makes Scott cry and Allison throw tissue paper at him, but the next morning he remembers nothing of what he said. All he really remembers is how unbelievably happy he was right in that moment.

 

(The baby comes right on schedule, albeit it at the god-awful hour of three am., and Scott lets the pack know via a horribly misspelled text message. At least he refrained from howling this time.

“Oh my God, Derek, Derek.” Stiles shoves at Derek’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

Derek, in his customary fashion, rolls over and paws at Stiles’s face, mumbling, “Shhh. Sleeping. No talking.”

It takes a great deal of restraint for Stiles not to shove Derek out of bed. Instead, he settles for sticking his cold feet right up against Derek’s dick. The resulting squawk is extremely satisfying. Maybe next Derek will listen when Stiles tells him to get up.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
